


Make it Out Alive

by AlexStone



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Implied Child Death, Loose references to the lore of the Wainriders, M/M, MarshMadness, Passage through the Marshes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29782443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexStone/pseuds/AlexStone
Summary: Sam and Frodo travel through the dead marshes. Gollum tells Sam a story.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	Make it Out Alive

**Author's Note:**

> "But the southern army of Gondor defeated the Haradrim army and then marched East. It surprised the Wainriders and annihilated them with an avenging wrath. Their encampment was set alight, and those not slain in the Battle of the Camp were driven into the Dead Marshes where they perished. Thereafter the name of the Wainriders vanished from the annals of the West and they were not named again in any of the histories of Elves or Men."

Sam hated the marshes. He hated the cold. He hated the damp. He hated the mist, rising so thick that he could barely see Frodo six paces away. Each step was a treacherous gamble, ground threatening to collapse under Sam’s weight in an instant. For the umpteenth time that day he felt his foot slide into a pit of dark, foul-smelling mud. Sam wrenched his foot free, a hot temper rising in his chest.

It was their third day travelling through the marshes, and Sam could not tell if they were any closer to Mordor. Thick clouds obscured the sun, such that daylight hardly brightened beyond a dull grey. Within hours Sam had lost all sense of direction. All he could rely on was the Gollum creature, with its thin voice and milky eyes. This prospect did nothing to lift Sam’s spirits. 

Yet the nights were worse. Dry ground was impossible to find, so each night Sam gave up his cloak to make a bed for Frodo. Sam would lay next to his master, feeling the sodden moss against his goose-pimpled skin. As he drifted into restless sleep, he dreamt of whispering things crawling through the dirt, pulling him down into darkness. He would awake with a start, hand twitching for his sword. In those lonely night-time hours Sam would lie rigid with fear, voices echoing in his ears. 

Sam tried to shake the black mud from his feet. Something wet splatted across his cheek, and Sam felt his frustrations boil over. He stormed to Frodo, making undignified little hops between moss beds.

“Mister Frodo, that creature is taking us for fools. He wants us to get lost in this damnable swamp,” Sam seethed under his breath, not being able to spot Gollum through the mist. 

Frodo turned to look at Sam, as if he couldn’t hear what Sam was saying. There was a peculiar, faraway look in Frodo’s eyes, and for the first time Sam noticed that a dreamlike smile was playing across his lips.

“Oh Sam, don’t worry,” Frodo said in a quiet voice. “Gollum knows the way. We are getting closer.” 

“How can you be sure?” Sam asked, despite knowing the answer to that question. There were moments when Frodo had pulled ahead of Gollum, walking in a straight line towards something only he could see. Sam stepped closer, taking Frodo’s hands in his own.

“You’re freezing!” Sam exclaimed, drawing Frodo’s ice-cold hands to his breast. “That does it. We are stopping here! Do you hear me, you rotten creature?” 

_“_ S-stupid hobbits,” a voice croaked from the mist. Gollum appeared, crawling on hands and feet. “This is a bad place. Not good for resting.”

“I don’t care,” Sam hissed at Gollum, drawing Frodo into a close embrace. “We are cold, wet, and hungry. You said this was a short-cut. Do you understand what that means? A short-cut? We are going to rest and get warm, and then you are going to get us out of this cursed place.”

Sam couldn’t tell if Gollum was snarling or smiling at him. “Whatever Precious wants,” Gollum said, slinking back into the mist.

Sam found a knoll for Frodo to sit, and began working on a small fire. There was no chance of finding kindling in the marsh, so Sam produced some of the last fire-starting branches he had gathered in Lothlorien. A few strikes of flint later and the branches crackled into life. The elven fire-branches burned with a sweet smoke that held the mist at bay. Sam felt the tension in his shoulders ease, and he knelt down in front of Frodo.

Frodo gazed at the fire, reflections of the flames dancing in his eyes. There were heavy bags under his eyes, and his sharp cheekbones seemed to protrude painfully under his skin. Frodo blinked slowly, almost as if he was noticing Sam. 

“Did you see the body this morning?” Frodo asked.

“Aye, it wasn’t the first,” Sam grimaced. The bodies were easiest to spot in pools of water, decomposing limbs reaching towards the surface. Those bodies frightened Sam, but it was the things he couldn’t see, hidden deep in the mud, that truly terrified him.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Frodo leaned forward conspiratorially, “this would be a perfect trap.”

“If that creature drowns us in our sleep,” Sam leaned to whisper in Frodo’s ear, “I’m going to spend an eternity saying ‘I told you so.’”

Frodo giggled weakly. Sam felt a swell of love in his heart. He traced his thumb along the back of Frodo’s hand, interlocking their fingers and enjoying the moment of peace.

Frodo frowned, looking over Sam’s shoulder. Sam turned to follow Frodo’s gaze. The mist had retreated, revealing more of the marshes. A few hundred paces from the hobbits, a human-shaped shadow stood. Sam could not make out any details, apart from a large walking stick that the figure held in one hand.

“Is it… one of them?” Sam whispered to Frodo.

Frodo shook his head, making a confused gesture. Sam turned back to the figure.

“Hello there!” Sam called out. 

There was no response. The figure seemed to be moving parallel to the hobbits, using the walking stick as leverage to move through the marsh.

“Hello! Wait! Can you help us?” Sam cried again, cupping his hands to his mouth. “My friend and I are lost, and we need some help!”

The figure slowed, turning towards Sam. Sam felt his heart leap with excitement.

“Yes! Over here! Please help, we need some directions!” Sam yelled, taking steps towards the figure.

The figure turned once more and began to walk away from Sam. 

“No! Please, just wait!” Sam cried, his pace quickening. 

The figure was beginning to fade into the mist once more. Sam felt his feet slip in the mud, and he collapsed forwards. Sam scrambled to his feet, just in time to watch the figure disappear into the mist. Sam stood covered in filth, feeling hot tears spring in the corners of his eyes. He crumpled to his knees, the awful futility of the situation washing over him.

Sam tried to keep a brave face for Frodo. He knew how much worse the journey was for Frodo. He could feel it in Frodo’s body as they held each other at night, tight as a frightened hare in one of Farmer Maggot’s traps. He heard the muttered whisperings when Frodo thought Sam wasn’t listening. He could feel the fear and hurt and rage pouring out of Frodo like a cracked dam. Sam tried to keep his frustrations inside. Yet every day since Amon Hen had been an awful, slow descent, and Sam feared they were a long way from the bottom.

“The hobbits is sad,” Gollum’s rasping voice floated behind him. Sam heard wet squelching sounds of feet pressing into the moss behind him. He rubbed the tears from his eyes.

“I’m not sad,” Sam rounded on Gollum, pointing an accusatory finger. “I’m angry at you. You brought us here, and you are leading us in circles!”

“Hobbits are liars,” Gollum croaked, tilting his head to one side as if evaluating Sam. “The marshes is bad. Sméagol hates bad marshes. But Precious wants the quickest path. So Sméagol leads stupid hobbits through bad marshes.”

Sam harrumphed and stormed past Gollum. He looked out over the marshes, the crackle of their campfire the only point in an empty sea of grey.

“This is near Gondor,” Sam mused, hands on his hips. “When Strider becomes king, he will fix this terrible place.”

“Gondor?” Gollum made a choking noise, crawling to a perch beside Sam. He continued to make the pained sound, until Sam realised that Gollum was laughing. “Gondor fix marshes? _Gollum. Gollum._ Stupid hobbits. _Gollum._ Gondor fix nothing.”

Sam turned to look at Gollum. There was a strange look in the creature's eyes, an old look that burned with a cold ferocity. 

“Gondor fights armies of men. _Gollum._ Gondor wins. What does Gondor do with enemies? Gondor doesn’t free enemies. Gondor doesn’t forgive enemies. _Gollum._ Gondor has clever idea. Gondor knows of tricksy marshes. Gondor knows men and elves and orcses all die in marshes. Gondor sends enemies to marshes. _Gollum._ Gondor’s enemies wander marshes. They try to leave. They don’t know the way. All are lost. All are scared. _Gollum._ Horses die first. Then mens and womens. Then itsy-bitsy childrens. The marshes take them all. Gondor safe forever. _Gollum. Gollum.”_

Sam felt his breath catch in his throat. “That’s not… they wouldn’t…”

Gollum coughed and spat phlegm on the ground. He looked at Sam, and for a moment Sam saw a strange emotion pass across Gollum’s face. Sam had seen the same look on some of the elves in Lothlorien. It was a sharp look, one that made Sam feel very small, in a large world that he couldn’t hope to understand. Sam had a flash of realisation. It was the expression of looking at a child. 

Gollum slunk into the mist. Sam watched the creature scramble over mossy knots, limbs bent at sharp angles. There was something huge about the world, and Sam often wished he had never left the gardens of Hobbiton. He slowly returned to the campfire, now burning into its last embers. 

Frodo looked up at Sam. A blushing pink had returned to his cheeks. He smiled as Sam approached, producing a small clump of green and brown moss.

“Sam, I’ve made the most wonderful discovery,” Frodo exclaimed. He beckoned Sam to join him, and squeezed the moss with both hands. A flood of water streamed from the moss, almost half a canteen worth. 

“This moss seems to hold dew and rainwater, and it is terribly clean,” Frodo explained. “We can use it to refill our satchels.”

Sam reached out a hand and felt the moss in his hand. Now drained of water it was as soft as down feathers. Sam looked out over the marshes. He had not noticed how rich the moss colours were. They spread before him like a thick Buckland carpet, interspersed with pools of water. Sam closed his hand around Frodo’s, and scooped him into an embrace.

“I promise you, Mister Frodo,” Sam whispered, “I’m going to get you home.”

Frodo smiled, picking up a walking stick that Sam didn’t recognise. “I know you will.” 

We watched those two hobbits share a tender kiss. There, in the remains of the day, we remembered what it was like to hold each other, to keep fear and anger at bay in the arms of love. We remembered how to hold close, and how to let go. We let the hobbits go, clearing the mist from their path and guiding their feet onwards.

We leave the world with nothing except our emotions. In those last hours before darkness we were all hatred. In time we forgot the names, and we forgot the faces. We forgot the reasons why. All that was left was the emotion. A hatred so pure it flowed from us and into everything we touched. It is who we have become.

We sink deeper into the mud, into a crushing darkness that spreads in all directions for all time. In darkness we dream of different worlds. Some days we dream of a world with enough love to wash us away, to carry us to the ocean and let us rest. 

Yet still we wake. Still we know that there is not enough rain in all the heavens that can wash us from the earth. We are the hateful wretched. We do not remember your name. All we remember is how you made us feel. 

We will not hurry. We will wait a thousand years and a thousand more. One day, you will find yourself in a mist covered marsh. You will not know how you got there. You will not know where you are going. All it will take is one wrong step. You will drown in us. We will pull you into darkness. 

The last thing you will remember is the fear.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you @MithrilShirt for inspiring the #MarshMadness tag!


End file.
